


I Thought I Knew You

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Character swap, F/F, F/M, I honestly have no idea how to tag this, Post-Episode: s07e25 Endgame (Star Trek: Voyager), prisons, she’s him and he’s her but it’s complicated (if that makes sense)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: He recruited her for a quick mission that took seven years. But what happens when Captain Tom Paris can’t get Lieutenant Kathryn Janeway out of prison once Voyager gets home?
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway & Tom Paris, Kathryn Janeway/B'Elanna Torres, Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris
Comments: 15
Kudos: 39
Collections: 25 Days of Voyager (2019)





	I Thought I Knew You

_ You help us find that ship, we help you at your next outmeet review. _

That’s what the captain had said.

And, like a fool, she’d believed him.

Kathryn Janeway stood in her prison cell, her auburn hair pulled into a ponytail, her hands tracing imaginary flight paths on a grey wall. She muttered about trajectories and escape velocities and evasive maneuvers — anything to pretend she was back on the ship.

“Janeway!” 

“What?” she yelled back at the guard.

“You have a visitor.”

Kathryn’s hands stilled.

It couldn’t be B’Elanna. She was in prison, too. Their eyes had locked as Federation Rehabilitation Commission guards boarded _Voyager_ , pulling B’Elanna, Chakotay, and the rest of the Maquis in one direction and Kathryn in the other — all while the captain insisted there must be some mistake, he had made arrangements, and where the hell was Admiral Janeway?

_ I served with your mother on the Al-Batani. _

_ You must be good. My mother only accepts the best and the brightest. _

Kathryn had sat in front of the captain for seven years, so she could sense his presence behind her even through the forcefield of her prison cell.

“Ms. Janeway, we need to talk.”

Her only movement was to lace her fingers at the nape of her neck. She would rather stare at the grey wall of her cell than the blue eyes of a liar.

“Turn around, Lieutenant.”

A bark of laughter sliced from her chest.

“Or what? You’ll demote me again? Do I even have a commission anymore? I’ve been here for, what, three weeks? The guards won’t even reinstate my outdoor work privileges. I thought you were better than —”

She heard the forcefield terminate.

Kathryn spun, her hands out to defend herself from guards who might have ideas about how to mitigate her disrespectful tone. 

But it was just him, alone.

Captain Tom Paris.

And he looked like hell.

***

Why was she following him?

Well, she’d followed Captain Paris for 70,000 light years. A few meters down the corridor of the penal settlement wasn’t much in comparison.

No, fuck that. She’d _led_ Captain Paris for 70,000 light years. _Her_ flight plans, _her_ piloting, _her_ outmaneuvering enemy ships time and time again.

Kathryn’s hands twitched for a navigational console.

He brought her into a small room and tapped the keypad to lock the door. There were two chairs and Kathryn sat in one of them. It was hard-backed, utilitarian — of course — but Kathryn slouched as if there was no place more comfortable. There was a monitoring system and Captain Paris moved toward it.

“Deactivate that, and the guards will think I’m trying to earn my freedom with sexual favors,” Kathryn warned. “And they’ll start making promises they can’t keep but I can’t argue.”

The captain’s hand went to his stomach and Kathryn idly wondered if he would be sick. There was a time she would have laid down her life for the man. But three weeks in prison had hardened the shell Kathryn thought she had shed on _Voyager_.

She didn’t miss B’Elanna anymore, didn’t wonder why Harry hadn’t contacted her, didn’t ache for her newborn son, John, who had been wailing in B’Elanna’s arms when guards pulled the Maquis and the “observer” from _Voyager_ into shuttles with coordinates for separate prisons.

Kathryn just wanted to sleep so she could dream she was flying.

Captain Paris sat. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head slightly.

“Kathryn, I’m very sorry. I’ve been working with your mother to get everyone released from their facilities. Communication has been difficult and messages I believed were sent had been intercepted by rehabilitation commission authorities. Approval lapsed for our original arrangement. I never meant for you to —”

“To rot in jail like the criminal you forgot I am?”

He turned his head, the four pips on his turtleneck catching the harsh light that beat down from the ceiling.

“Oh, come on now, Captain.” She leaned toward him, her ponytail falling over her shoulder. “I’m not even up to the thirty days in solitary you once thought were appropriate. No device in my head like at the Akritirian prison. Another week of good behavior and I should be able to feel the sun, and not even one I programmed in the holodeck — the actual sun.”

“John and B’Elanna are fine.”

Sun. Son.

Kathryn’s passion for twentieth century Earth history once led her to watch an old, grainy video of one of the planet’s icebergs melting, the frozen pillar splintering into shards that descended into a choppy sea. That held no resemblance to what was happening in her heart, she told herself, no resemblance at all.

The heels of Kathryn’s hands pressed against her closed eyes.

“The penal facility where they’re housed is more enlightened than this one, so John and B’Elanna haven’t been separated at all, even for his checkups. He’s doing well.” Captain Paris smiled slightly. “He’s put on close to a kilo.”

“Stop!” Kathryn struggled to keep her voice from betraying her anger. 

The corners of the captain’s mouth reversed. His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I thought you would want to know.”

“How’s Chakotay?” Kathryn pulled herself to sit straight in the uncomfortable chair. “He looked pretty cozy with Seven of Nine when we made it to the Alpha Quadrant. Not quite as cozy as he looked with you after the two of you were stranded on that planet for months, but cozy enough.”

The captain’s hand went to the curve where his neck met his shoulder. “That was unnecessary.”

“So is telling me about the son I can’t be with.”

“This isn’t like you, Kathryn.” Captain Paris stood and began to pace. “You can be impudent, but I’ve never known you to be purposefully hurtful.”

Her arms went wide, as if encompassing the dingy building, the forest that surrounded the grounds, the layers of security between her and the outside world. “You’ve never known me in prison, sir.”

His hands went to his hips and, for a second, it was like that long-ago sunlit day not so many meters from where they were. The almighty Starfleet captain striding in like a holonovel hero to rescue the prisoner, the golden daughter who had fallen from grace, besmirching the proud Janeway name with her piloting accident, her drunkenness, her mercenary turn to the Maquis.

She had wanted to kiss the arrogance from his stuffy, proper face. She had fought the urge to unfasten his Starfleet uniform, a symbol of everything she had been brought up to want, everything that had rejected her, and drop it to the grass, as forgotten and discarded as she had been. Then, she would have been able to explore the blond, beautiful man chattering about a mission to the Badlands.

“You’re right,” the captain said, his hands still on his hips. “I don’t know this side of you, Kathryn, and you shouldn’t have to reacquaint yourself with it. Your mother and I are trying to get you out in the next few days. Not for parole or home monitoring. Out. Free.”

Kathryn shook her head. “A little piloting advice, Captain? Don’t aim too high, too fast. It’s the easiest way to fall.”

There was a chime and the captain strode over and pressed the keypad to unlock the door. 

“Visiting hours are over,” a guard snapped.

“That’s not possible,” Captain Paris said. “I arranged for —”

“You locked the door.” The guard licked his lips, his eyes roaming the curves Kathryn’s prison-issue grey jumpsuit couldn’t hide. “Gives some of us ideas about what went on in here.”

Captain Paris was tall for a human but the guard was Nausicaan with the substantial height and musculature typical of his species. Yet the captain stepped forward, crowding the taller, broader man until their faces were only a few centimeters apart. 

“I am holding you personally responsible for my officer’s safety,” Captain Paris said, his voice low and dangerous. “If she informs me of any behavior I find questionable, even the smallest infraction, I will ensure you experience regret the depths of which you have never thought possible.”

The guard nodded quickly and Kathryn couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. This was her captain, and she remembered every reason it had been an honor to serve beside him.

***

She was dreaming.

In the dream, the shuttle was accelerating faster and faster. Warp nine point seven, nine point eight, nine point nine, nine point nine five.

Warp ten.

Holy fuck.

She had done it.

Her mother would have to respect her now.

All those lovers, the men and women who had told her she wasn’t good enough for them — and all the ones who should have — they would know. Kathryn Janeway in the history books alongside Orville Wright, Neil Armstrong, and Zephram Cochrane.

She couldn’t wait to tell Captain Paris. He would be proud, grateful he had agreed to let her, not Harry, be the one to pilot the shuttle.

She was everywhere and nowhere and _Voyager_ was looking for her, so she dropped out of warp and then she was on a biobed and the captain said, “Are you all right, Kathryn?” and all she could say was, “I'm back,” and, like the warp ten flight, it meant everything and nothing at the same time.

In her prison cell, Kathryn jerked to consciousness. 

Grey walls.

Forcefield hum.

Too-hard bed pallet.

“Goddamn,” she mumbled, not sure which dream she hated more, the kind when B’Elanna was there, just on the other side of the forcefield, telling her they could go home together … or the kind when Kathryn remembered what had brought her to this moment.

Kathryn wanted to dream about starships and sailboats and Captain Proton.

But ever since Captain Paris’ visit, all she could think about was the past or the future.

How long ago was it that he had talked to her in that room down the corridor?

Kathryn couldn’t remember.

This is why Captain Paris hates time travel, she thought, rolling over to try to chase a little more sleep before her work detail out in the prison yard.

***

“Janeway!”

“What?”

“You have a visitor.”

The guard led Kathryn from the prison yard to a small room. It wasn’t the one where Captain Paris had spoken with her, but it was the same idea. Two hard chairs, harsh light, monitoring system.

No one was there.

Kathryn’s hands flexed, ready to grab a chair and swing it. No guard had so much as glanced below her chin since Captain Paris’ threat, but threats wore off and there were rumors about what happened in these rooms, about monitoring systems that broke and guards that walked out loose in the hips while a prisoner looked downward, not meeting the pitying eyes of other grey-jumpsuited inmates.

But the guard said, “Wait here,” and then the door closed behind him.

The monitoring system’s green light blinked, indicating it was sending information to the Federation Rehabilitation Commission. 

Kathryn considered double-checking, but what would be the point? 

Instead, she hefted a chair like a barbell. If the guard came back alone — or with other guards — she could throw the chair in their direction and shout for help. If she timed it right, she might even be able to sprint out to the corridor where there would be witnesses to whatever might happen. 

Her hands tightened on the chair.

The door opened.

The chair clattered to the floor.

In Admiral Gretchen Janeway’s arms, three-month-old baby John stopped crying and reached for the mother he barely knew.

***

Kathryn held the baby to her chest. He was a heat machine, like B’Elanna, and his tiny hand was strong as it tugged Kathryn’s hair free from its ponytail. She kissed his forehead ridges, his cheeks, his tiny nose.

“B’Elanna shows him holo-videos of you,” Gretchen explained.

They were the first words either of them had spoken to each other since Kathryn had been incarcerated. 

Again.

Kathryn fought the urge to lick the baby. She had worked so hard not to think about this child, this piece of herself that she was separated from, so, when her thoughts overrode her self-control, she pictured John as a newborn, a lump in a blanket still too unfocused to know what was going on or who he was with. But he was real and he was here and she wanted every sight, smell, and taste of him.

She inhaled deeply and the scent lodged in her breastbone.

She held him up so she could look at him again. He rewarded her with a lazy smile Kathryn had only seen in holo-videos of herself. In human terms, John looked a year old, chubby and dark with no physical indication of his pale-skinned, human parent. Kathryn shook her head. Klingon genetics were incredible.

As if her mother read her mind — and Kathryn wouldn’t rule out that possibility — Gretchen hitched her thumbs over her admiral’s belt and said, “What were you thinking, Kathryn, having a baby in the Delta Quadrant?”

_ What were you thinking, Kathryn, crying alone in your room for hours? _

_ What were you thinking, Kathryn, taking my shuttle out for a joyride? _

_ What were you thinking, Kathryn, lying to Starfleet about your piloting error at Caldik Prime? _

She could have told her mother the truth — that _Voyager’s_ EMH had said double egg conception wasn’t a problem, but merging half-Klingon and full human DNA would present fertility concerns under any circumstances. He’d recommended learning from failed implantation attempts into each of B’Elanna’s uteruses so, eventually, there would be hope for a baby.

When they got pregnant on the first try, the Doctor had nearly dropped his medical tricorder.

But Kathryn answered Gretchen’s disapproval with a different truth. “Well, Mom, I guess this is just another way I’ve disappointed you.”

Gretchen eased into one of the uncomfortable chairs. 

“We disappoint each other,” she said simply. She motioned toward Kathryn’s grey jumpsuit. “Seeing you like this is not my first choice.”

The lines between Gretchen’s eyebrows deepened and her thin lips pressed together. Kathryn’s throat constricted.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen to B’Elanna? Is that why you’re here with John?”

“B’Elanna is fine.”

Kathryn held the baby close. 

“What happened? What aren’t you telling me?”

Gretchen began to explain and, as she did, Kathryn found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Captain Paris had done exactly what he’d said he would do. 

He had demanded Starfleet honor arrangements he had made for his Maquis crewmembers, as well as the prisoner brought onboard as an observer.

He had rejected parole or home monitoring, insisting his people deserved immediate freedom and Starfleet was dragging its feet in false claims of due diligence. 

He had worked with Admiral Janeway, Admiral Patterson, Admiral Hayes — anyone who would help. Until they told him to settle, to accept whatever Starfleet would offer if compromise got his people out of prison faster. Then Captain Paris’ blue eyes had turned icy and he’d said he had been alone for seven years and he would keep doing what needed to be done, alone.

Two days ago, his last petition was denied.

No one had seen him since.

“Damn,” Kathryn murmured as she stroked the baby’s ridged back. “I told him aiming too high, too fast, was the easiest way to fall.”

***

This was one of Kathryn’s favorite dreams. 

B’Elanna.

B’Elanna bent backward onto her console in Engineering, Kathryn’s lips meeting hers harder and harder, chests heaving as they tried to ignore their suspicion they were being watched.

B’Elanna biting Kathryn’s cheek — not in the gallicite caves when the half-Klingon hadn’t been in control, but in quarters where the pain had shot through Kathryn’s body, quickening the ache low in her stomach.

B’Elanna sweaty, hair tousled, in their bed, peeking over Kathryn’s stomach to warn one more noise complaint and the captain would have them scrubbing the plasma relays and Kathryn shouting that the feeling between her legs was worth scrubbing the entire hull, just keep going.

“Janeway!”

She burrowed deeper into the dream.

“Janeway!”

She scrunched her eyes shut.

The forcefield buzz terminated and there was a different voice: “C’mon, Flygirl, it’s time to go home.”

Kathryn rolled over so fast, she fell from her sleep pallet onto the floor of her cell. A smile lit her face. She was up and her arms were so tight around her wife that they both were grateful for the half-Klingon’s third lung.

Well, mostly grateful.

B’Elanna sniffed the air. Her nostrils flared. She whispered low enough so the guard couldn’t hear, “If you got excited dreaming about your salamander baby daddy instead of me, I’ll leave you here to rot.”

Kathryn laughed so hard both their bodies shook. “Only you, B’Elanna. Only you.”

***

The rehabilitation facility where B’Elanna and the other Maquis had been held offered education and recreation options in dormitory-style living. Chakotay had babysat John while B’Elanna transported back and forth to Starfleet Academy to complete classes for credit. Thanks to competency testing and scholarly diligence, B’Elanna was a senior, ready for her first engineering posting in a few months.

“Why was I in a hellhole and you were in a palace?” Kathryn asked.

They were sitting on the couch in a transitional apartment B’Elanna’s rehabilitation facility had arranged for them. John was asleep on Kathryn’s chest. The nine-month-old — three years old in human terms — had greeted his human mother with a stomp of his tiny foot and a shout of, “Get back in the holo-video.”

She’d kept her distance until John became drowsy for his nap, then Kathryn had scooped him up and held him, his every baby breath unclenching another muscle that had been tense for nearly John’s entire life.

“It didn’t look like a hellhole,” B’Elanna said, her hand holding the one Kathryn didn’t have on John’s back. “The trees were nice. Where I was, it was all desert.”

Kathryn closed her eyes. 

B’Elanna didn’t understand. 

Kathryn hoped she never would.

The law had changed during their time in the Delta Quadrant, so the Maquis from _Voyager_ were sentenced for lesser crimes while Kathryn was bound by the original judgment against her. But, as of that morning, the Maquis’ shorter prison terms were truncated and Kathryn was released with ankle monitoring and daily check-ins with her parole officer — all thanks to compromises arranged by Admiral Janeway.

“She visited us once a week,” B’Elanna said. “She seemed to really love John.”

Kathryn squeezed B’Elanna’s hand. “I’m sure she’s already working on his application to the academy.”

B’Elanna kneeled on the couch. Her breath swirled in Kathryn’s ear. “Put him in his toddler bed.”

“But I’ve missed him! He’s my child and I don’t even —”

Slowly, B’Elanna’s teeth slid into Kathryn’s cheek until they both could smell the tang of blood. 

John spent the rest of his nap in his toddler bed, his mothers across the hall in their own bed trying — and failing — to be quiet. 

***

“Did you arrange my release for me or did you do it for him?” Kathryn’s arms went wide as she hollered at her mother. 

“That was unnecessary,” Gretchen snapped.

“My God.” Kathryn flopped onto the couch. “You two even talk the same.”

John was napping, B’Elanna was in class, and Gretchen had done what she too often did — she dropped by unannounced. Never mind that Kathryn had holo-code to work on and was in the middle of eating a slice of pizza.

Like both his mothers, ten-month-old John was a heavy sleeper. Kathryn had learned she could play music, chat with Harry over subspace, or watch anything she wanted on her television and the baby wouldn’t stir until his nap was over.

So she had no compunction about raising her voice to her mother, who had, yet again, asked if Kathryn had any idea where Captain Paris might be.

He’d been missing for nearly seven months.

“I simply believe the two of you had a unique relationship and you may have insight into his location.” Gretchen brushed lint that wasn’t there off her uniform sleeve.

“Unique relationship?” Kathryn’s nose crinkled.

“Starfleet has gone through mission logs and personal logs,” Gretchen said. “It comes up more than once. 'Janeway is Paris’ personal reclamation project.' Chakotay says it. Tuvok says it. Even Tom, himself, says a version of it.”

Kathryn ran a hand over her hair. 

“Look, Mom, I don’t know what you think might be going on here, but the captain has always been the captain. You should be asking Chakotay or Seven of Nine where he could be. He spent more time with them than with me.”

Not at first. 

At first, things seemed so different. 

It was later, when the captain started buckling under the pressure, when he shut them out, person by person, until no one felt comfortable calling him “friend,” not even his first officer or surrogate daughter, that’s when Kathryn wondered if she had been delusional those first couple of years when she thought she and Captain Paris had a spark together.

After all, things were … almost good … at first.

Kathryn stood. “Stay here with John. I know where the captain is.”

***

It took Kathryn’s eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light. After so many years in the simulation, she had forgotten how much smaller and seedier the real one was.

But she had been right.

Captain Paris was at the pool table in Sandrine’s, hustling an unsuspecting Bolian. Kathryn made her way to a barstool and watched.

The captain leaned over a little more than necessary to take his shots, his back arching ever so slightly.

He strayed close enough to touch the Bolian, but kept enough distance to tease without reward.

When the captain sent the eight ball rolling across the green felt and into its pocket, he glanced up from the table and his bloodshot eyes found Kathryn at the bar. His head tilted and his eyebrow rose.

The Bolian pressed a mix of Federation credits and latinum into the captain’s hand, which the captain counted and accepted with a nod.

Then Captain Paris strode away from the pool table, leaned his cue against the bar, and sat next to his onetime chief conn officer.

“Your mother must have succeeded in securing your early release, Ms. Janeway. Congratulations.”

With two fingers, the captain signaled the bartender. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Captain?” Kathryn blurted. “Starfleet is losing its mind searching for you. They want to honor you, to promote you.”

The bartender slid glasses in front of them and the captain took a long, lingering sip of Malbec. 

“Captain?”

He studied the glass and the dark liquid within.

“Captain?”

He took another sip, slow and purposeful.

Kathryn slammed a hand to the table. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you can’t just disappear. My mother says your father has been rattling around his farmhouse in Indiana half-crazed with worry. You fought so hard to get home. Why aren’t you there?”

Captain Paris put down his wine glass and picked up his pool cue. He knocked it against Kathryn’s ankle and she heard a metallic clang over the conversations of other bar patrons.

Then the captain clenched his glass again and tipped his head back to drain every dreg of the dark wine.

“The ankle monitor?” Kathryn asked. “You’re upset about my ankle monitor? B’Elanna graduates from the academy in a few weeks. Chakotay is going to teach at the University of Bajor. Ayala —”

“Are you going to drink that?” The captain pointed at Kathryn’s wine glass.

“No.” She shoved it toward him, anger rising in her chest. “Drink alone since that’s what you want so badly.”

Kathryn rose from her barstool. She had holo-code to complete for her part-time job and John could probably use a trip to the park and B’Elanna expected the apartment to be cleaned.

“Did you tell your mother where I am?”

The captain didn’t even turn. He’d asked the question into the battered woodgrain of the bar.

“No, but I don’t keep secrets from B’Elanna, so don’t be surprised if she comes in here with a bat'leth ready to break your arm for what you’re doing.”

The captain said it so quietly Kathryn almost didn’t hear him. “I would deserve it.”

The memory came unbidden.

The viewscreen devoid of stars.

The captain telling her to set a course that would strand him, alone, to secure the safety of his crew.

_ Lieutenant, I gave you an order. _

_ I can't follow that order, sir.  _

Captain Paris’ shoulders, usually set and purposeful, were hunched over the bar.

His breaths, the ones Kathryn knew so well from sitting in front of him all those years, had a tremor.

His fingers curled around Kathryn’s wine glass and they shook as he brought the purplish-black liquid to his lips.

“You think you’re responsible.” Her hand hovered just behind the captain’s back but he stiffened as if she had touched him. “You’re upset because when we got home your almighty Starfleet disappointed you and you think that means you failed your crew.”

The captain didn’t look at her. “Did the Federation reinstate your pilot’s license? Honor the field commissions I granted you or the Maquis?”

“No.” Kathryn’s hands dropped to her thighs. “I need to complete parole, so it’ll be another year or so before I can fly anything, much less a starship. The Maquis were permitted academy entry, but Starfleet voided their commissions.”

Captain Paris stood, clutching his pool cue. He began to make his way back to the green felt table, but Kathryn blocked his path.

“Look, Captain, nobody ever said getting home would be a cakewalk. It took me time to recognize that. We all need to —”

“To rot in jail like the criminal I forgot you were?”

Kathryn winced at her own words flung back at her. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. I know now that you were doing your best.”

“Sometimes our best isn’t good enough, Ms. Janeway.”

The captain stepped around her.

Clinks of glasses. Conversations. Shuffling feet and heavy-handed pours. Kathryn fought the urge to cover her ears with her hands as she watched Captain Paris walk away, his posture as perfectly aligned and ramrod straight as the forcefield in Kathryn’s old prison cell.

The prison the captain was still in.

“We don’t need you anymore,” Kathryn shouted at the captain’s retreating back. 

He froze.

“We needed you out there and we loved you, whether it was romantic or paternal or friendship or everything together in some crazy mess. But, here at home, even if things aren’t perfect, we don’t need you to feel responsible for us anymore. Maybe we expected too much … maybe _I_ expected too much. But I want you to be part of my life and B’Elanna’s life and John’s life because I appreciate everything you did and everything you tried to do. And I want you, not for who you try to be, but for who you are. For your stubborn, demanding, big-hearted, science-minded, hologram-fucking, duty-first, argumentative self.”

Her chest heaved and her eyes stung and Kathryn struggled to catch her breath.

The captain was eerily still. 

Then his arm shot out and his pool cue arced through the air and when she heard it clatter onto the green felt Kathryn realized the bar had gone silent.

Captain Paris turned, a corner of his mouth curled into a rueful grin.

Then his arms were around her in a hug and Kathryn knew, she _knew_ , he was going to be all right. It would take time and he would need to talk with his Maquis crewmembers, but he would get there.

“Thank you, Kathryn, for what you said.” The captain’s chin rested on her shoulder. “But, for heaven’s sake, did you have to mention the hologram?”


End file.
